What Hurts More
by Kassidy62
Summary: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson; explicit. Non consent issues. / Part 2 of Sometimes They Come Back - The nights are long with the Joker riding his dreams.
1. Chapter 1

So cold. The wind blew through cracks in the walls, skittered across the frigid floor. Jason's body burned and throbbed against the unforgiving cold. He tried to push himself to his feet, get rid of the weight pressing against his back.

The Joker's deadly, jolly voice, confidential in his ear: "What hurts more? This?"

Teeth at his shoulder blade, sharp nip. Dragging across skin to the meat of Jason's shoulder, digging in. It barely registered through the pain over the rest of his body until the teeth began to grind, working sideways, back and forth. The Joker rocked in time against his back.

The mouth lifted from Jason's shoulder. "Or this?" the Joker asked, low and intimate, lover to lover amidst a crowd. His hips drove against Jason's ass, a savage thrust.

Jason's back bowed in agony. It only made the pain flame deeper inside.

"Well, which is it? A, or...B?" the Joker asked, deep voice exultant. He laughed and laughed.

Push and pull, the Joker's rhythm, merciless intent, Jason's bared cock and balls gone numb against cold concrete. Jason closed his eyes, clawed the unyielding floor and thought about Dick and how Dick had kissed him once. Afterward Dick looked horrified. When he apologized Jason tried to kiss him again. Maybe it was one of those extravagant, testosterone-driven crushes in the beginning, but even as young as he was then, Jason had wanted the first-loved-best loved-favorite son. He had ever since they met. That never changed, a coal burning deep inside him, banked only because there was no hope.

Jason always wanted more than he deserved and rarely got it. But there was one thing he knew how to get. Vengeance. Retribution. Eye for an eye. For himself and for others.

But now there was more. There was Dick. Richard Grayson, who flew with the clouds.

"...wake up, Jase. It's a dream, wake up," a disembodied voice said.

Jason struck out without opening his eyes. The weight on the bed beside him shifted.

"Cut it out, will you? It's me. You're having a bad dream." Dick's voice.

Jason opened his eyes, Dick's face hung over him, sleepy eyes blinking, hair sticking up in wild black spikes.

Sleepy, hurt, dirty, whatever-Jason had seen Dick in all his permutations, and the guy never looked bad.

Perfect. Bruce's perfect son. First, best son.

Jason reached up, fingers sliding through the dark hair. Gripped hard and yanked, Dick's body falling onto the mattress beside him. Jason rolled on top.

Dick's body was warm, his breathing calm. Jason tightened his grip deliberately, watching him. Dick winced but his eyes stayed open, clouded blue in the dusky, pre-dawn light.

Clouded because of the drugs. Jason told Bruce he'd taken Dick off them, but he'd lied. Though he'd brought the dose down quickly enough when Dick showed no aversion to Jason in his bed.

Jason spoke in his ear. "Where were you when I died, Dick? Hmm?"

Dick shook his head. He didn't know.

Jason kissed his cheek. His hands slid to Dick's throat. Long, elegant, strong throat.

_How strong?_

He slipped his hands around Dick's throat and began to squeeze.

_What hurts more?_

Dick's mouth opened, trying to take in air. His hands rose, covered Jason's, pulling. Not very hard.

Jason smiled. With even a little of the drug in his system, Dick was like a child: trusting, curious, generous, unmindful of danger to himself. Which actually was little different than Dick _off_ the drugs.

Dick's face turned red, veins standing out in his forehead, and Jason let go. Dick coughed, gasping, and Jason dropped his mouth to Dick's throat. Skimmed his lips back over his teeth and bit hard.

_What hurts more?_

He closed his eyes and bit deeper, began sawing his teeth back and forth, working the tender skin.

Dick yelped but stayed still. His body had gone rigid. Good. Though rigid made it hurt more.

_Rape is it? Is that what you're going to do to him?_

_No! I would never-_

Ah, sanity. It seemed he still had some of it left, tucked away in his head. Leftovers from before the pit.

Jason let go with a wet suck, but he didn't move away. He kissed Dick's throat, mouthed over the injured flesh. "What hurts more, what hurts more?" Jason whisper-sing-songed. He didn't mean to say it out loud and couldn't stop once he'd started. He sounded crazy. He knew that much. He panted it again against the ugly purple bruise he'd bitten into Dick's skin and brushed his lips over it, in apology or maybe readying himself to do it again.

Dick ducked and turned his head. Jason's teeth closed against Dick's mouth, biting lip instead of throat. Dick groaned, opened his mouth to him, lifted his head off the bed to push closer. He thrust his tongue into Jason's mouth.

Jason grunted, gathered himself over Dick, let all his weight sink into him. He kissed him roughly, rubbed his stiffening cock against Dick's.

Dick was hard. He humped into the contact, legs sprawled open beneath Jason's.

Jason grabbed Dick's wrists and pinned them to the mattress, and Dick let him. Dick didn't try to escape, though he'd gone through two nights with the Joker riding Jason's dreams and ass.

But tonight Jason was in control. He was. He was with Dick. In Bludhaven in Dick's apartment, and Dick was warm beneath him. The Joker wasn't pining him on the cold warehouse floor.

He looked into Dick's eyes. There was pain there, and softness. Not violence.

Jason rubbed his face against the bruise he'd made, croaked, "What hurts?" before he could stop himself. He was immediately ashamed, and after that enraged because of the shame.

"You do," Dick said. "I'm sorry." His hand rubbed over Jason's bicep, soothing.

Jason raised his head, mashed their mouths brutally together. There were other ways to shut up, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrol wasn't the same, but then again, everything had changed since Jason came back. Dick outfitted himself and stood high up by a buttress of his apartment building, looking over the area.

The sky was bright blue. It looked flat, like a solid ceiling, albeit smudged over by the constant city pollution. Dick took a deep breath in, ignoring the stench.

To some people, Bludhaven was a nightmare and a criminal's paradise. To Dick it meant opportunity. Normally he took it as a challenge, confident that he'd get the local crime in hand. Not lately.

He was tired. He'd awakened tired every day for the last two weeks, and that just wasn't him.

The first day or two he was sure it was his body healing from injuries gotten chasing after the Red Hood in Gotham. But Dick healed fast. The fatigue hadn't gone away. His head ached most mornings, too. And he'd always slept well and deeply, but it hadn't been restful of late, though dreamless from what he remembered. Unlike Jason's sleep.

Dick's body tensed. The sick things the Joker had done haunted Jason five years later and probably always would. Of all the things Dick knew the Joker capable of, and _still _he'd never suspected that kind of brutal perversity. As far as Dick knew, neither had Bruce.

Last night Jason hadn't been able to shake off the dream. Dick was pretty sure the person he'd faced in the dark had been more the Joker from Jason's memory than Jason himself. It was chilling, and a long time before Jason had come to himself.

Dick breathed in deep again, trying to clear his mind and focus on the job at hand. There was no wind, and the heavy air made his skin itchy. Dick was sweating before he left the building.

Two hours later and Dick was battling his temper, the neck of a thug squeezed securely in the crook of his arm. The man had been in the process of collecting protection money from a corner store in a particularly seedy (okay, relatively speaking, because Bludhaven, taken as a whole, was incredibly seedy) section of the city. Dick hated shakedowns, with more reason than most-his parents had died because the circus they performed with refused to pay protection money.

The man whose windpipe Dick was currently blocking turned out to be a embarrassment to mobsters everywhere. Dick had the name of the wise guy the thug was collecting for in two minutes. On the way to the police department, Dick advised the thug that, if he couldn't hold out for longer than two minutes, he needed to get out of the business before he found himself no longer existing.

Dick left the guy at the police station and traveled two blocks before he saw a familiar black-cowled figure. Batman stood atop a parked moving van. He swooped to the pavement, landing in front of Dick.

"If I'd wanted to talk I'd have responded to your calls," Dick said without heat.

"Listen to me. Jason's drugging you." As usual, the graveled voice nor the mask betrayed emotion.

Dick let it wash over him. There was no surprise. He'd suspected it, in fact. He wondered how Jason had administered it. The drug, whatever it was, was something Dick had never encountered. It didn't feel like a high, but he'd felt awfully relaxed. Was still relaxed; he found it hard to be bothered.

But that feeling had left him open to Jason. Who'd fallen on his knees in front of Dick, so much unsaid but nonetheless written all over his face. Who'd clawed at Dick's sweats and swallowed him down in one swoop, starved for taste and touch, and sucked Dick off like he'd been born to it. Like he'd have died for it.

The night after Dick had turned him down.

Dick nodded. "I know." He turned away.

Green-eyed, beautiful Jason, grown up now, hard lines stamped over his classic features. The lines hadn't been there that night. They'd vanished.

Batman gripped his shoulder, stopping him. "I know you don't want to talk. We need to anyway."

Dick glanced back. People were beginning to gather around them. He gestured at the factory behind them. "Up there. Around back where they can't see us."

They separated, meeting up again on a lower level roof at the back of the factory. Gravel crunched under Dick's feet as he walked to where Batman waited. It was hotter than hell, and the tarred roof underfoot didn't help with the sun shining full force. Heat wavered in the air.

Dick squinted at Bruce. "We're here. What's up?"

"What's up?" Bruce repeated, incredulous.

"What is it you want from me?"

"What I want," Bruce said, tight, measured, "is to know why in God's name you'd let him live with you? After what he's done?"

"He needs me," Dick said, bone-tired.

"He's lied to me then. He's still drugging you, he has to be. That's the only explanation for this," Batman stated.

Dick looked at him, searched for Bruce somewhere in all that darkness. "Jason was Robin. One of us. That has to mean something."

Batman stepped closer, shoulders squaring into a tight line. Looming. "It means everything! It always will. It doesn't change the fact that he's the Red Hood now."

Dick's mouth opened, but no sound came out. "Dammit," was what he managed when he could finally speak. What a fucking idiot he was.

Batman narrowed his eyes. "You didn't know."

"How long have you?"

"Since the train station."

Dick waved a hand at him. "What? You knew-the train station, when I got hurt? You knew then?"

Bruce nodded, silent.

"And you didn't tell me."

"Jason and I fought the Hand of Four together. I ran a DNA match when he was cut. I had to be sure."

"But you _knew," _Dick said. He shook his head. "You've always got your secrets, don't you? Cards close to the vest, all that. Do you realize if you'd only told me that night, I'd never have-" _been stupid. Gullible. Watched him look at me from down on his knees as if he worshiped me. _

Dick put a hand over his mouth and turned away.

Bruce's hand was on his shoulder again, and Dick wanted to shrug it off but he couldn't, heartsick.

"We'll get him away from you. You'll be all right."

Dick managed to shrug him off after all. It was too fucking much. "I'll do that myself-_if_ and _when_ I want."

"He's dangerous, Dick!"

"So am I!" Dick whirled to face him. Bruce. The man who'd raised him. He had to be in there somewhere.

"He's a killer!"

"The Joker _raped_ him. Doesn't that bother you?" He regretted the words before he'd finished. Why was he always asking Bruce for a show of emotion? Better ask iron to weep water.

"Of course it does!"

Dick laughed, ruined by choking on it. "Of course." He walked away a few steps and turned back. "Humor me. How many more people might be alive now if the Joker had died with Jason?"

"How does that matter?"

Dick laughed again, felt somehow compelled to continue the facade. "If you can believe this-you might think this is funny, too, so bear with me-I was about to ask you how could it _not_ matter? But then," Dick said, wagging his finger at Bruce, "I remembered. That would be yet _another_ version of the same question asked by me and answered by you a thousand, thousand times-that question being, of course, 'do you care?'"

"What's my answer?" Bruce said, so soft. Dick had never heard his voice so soft.

Dick shrugged. "I've never known. Sometimes I thought I did."

"You've always known, Dick."

Dick closed his eyes. "I'm not saying I agree with Jason. But so many people have died, so many people hurt by the Joker's hand. Jason...he's-" he opened his eyes again, seeking Bruce. But the mask was in the way.

Or was there for that reason.

"He deserves better," Dick finished.

"Killing is the easy way," Batman said, still soft. "That's why the criminals take it." He paused. "If I ever started killing-for any reason, for anyone-"

The blind eyes of the mask stared at Dick. Dick couldn't look away.

"Who could stop me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Jason's body was streaked with sweat. His and Dick's, mixed. He grabbed Dick's head, soaked wet, and rubbed his fingers all around in it, then down around the temples, tracing over slick cheekbones. He laid his fingers along the lines of cheekbone for the hell of it, then realized what a sappy thing it was and stopped.

Dick smiled up at him, white teeth and happiness. Sweat shone beneath his eyes, showed a hint of tired circles beneath them.

Jason frowned. Boy Blunder couldn't afford to be under par. A bad day out with the riff-raff of Bludhaven could be fatal. "You need to sleep."

"I need to fuck again first." Dick nodded with absolute conviction.

"You do, huh?" Jason wiggled on top of him. They were both tacky with sweat and come. Jason didn't mind. He smeared the mess on his stomach against the damp of Dick's skin.

Dick grimaced, but he still grabbed Jason's ass, unceremoniously lining the tips of his fingers along Jason's crack. The tip of one pushed at Jason's hole. Jason wriggled, pushing against it.

He'd long gotten over the physical scars the Joker had given him, though even he knew better than to deny the psychological damage. Though deny it he would until his dying breath, except to himself. And to Dick, who definitely knew better.

"The thing you're wiggling all over is called a stomach. My dinner's in there, and you're upsetting it."

Jason wriggled harder, then slipped/fell off thanks to Dick. Sweaty fucker.

"You're ridiculous," Dick said fondly.

"You need sleep," Jason said. "You have circles under your eyes."

Dick stared at him. " You're making sure I get enough sleep?" Dick reached up and kissed him with unbridled relish, teeth and tongue, hot breath and sloppy spit. "I don't need sleep, Red Hoodlum."

Two nights ago Dick had informed Jason he knew who he was, rendering all the lies moot. Jason had narrowed his eyes at him, expecting an explosion, to be thrown out, something. There was nothing.

Jason sputtered against his lips and pushed him away. "Gross, Blunder Boy." He rolled off Dick and jumped out of bed, heading for the shower.

"I get mixed up. That's how I rim your asshole, asshole," Dick called back, so damn cheerily.

Jason bit his cheek just so that Dick didn't hear him laugh.

He came out after the shower, naked and rubbing his hair briskly with a towel. Dick was asleep. Jason smirked. He twirled the towel into a whip and slapped Dick's side with it.

And then he was on the ground, Dick over him breathing hard, forearm jammed under Jason's jaw.

Jason hid his own violent urge to retaliate best he could, though his arms trembled with the instinct to strike. Just street smarts, honed for years. Nothing to worry about. "Hello, sweetheart. How's it hanging? You should get your ceiling painted, by the way."

Dick pulled away, quicksilver in the dimness. "Sorry, sorry. You okay?"

Jason rolled on his spine and sat up. "Sure I am. Relax. Not like you could take me."

He blinked innocently at Dick. Dick looked back.

When Dick landed, it was on the empty floor.

A week more, and he'd weaned Dick off the drugs. He'd never realized until now, but if it were possible Dick moved more, was busier and had more energy than even he did.

Dick went about his business, super-hero shit, and Jason did his vigilante shit. They talked about the things they could talk about, and on occasion they talked about killing.

Dick couldn't be moved from his position. Neither could Jason. The good thing was that so far one or the other had walked away before the argument got completely out of hand.

Dick didn't talk about Bruce, didn't see him. Which was, Jason was convinced, how they'd managed to stay together in spite of their differing viewpoints. As long as Bruce was out of the picture, they were okay.

When he thought about it, he knew what they had wasn't permanent. He wanted it, would fight like hell for it. But let's face it, he was damaged goods, a thing built for destruction.

Besides, some things you couldn't keep. They were ephemeral. You enjoyed them until it was over or gone. So he wasn't surprised when it happened.

It started like most bad times in his life: with the Joker, or reminders of the Joker, or the Joker in his dreams. Or something like that. The very least the bastard could do was shoulder the blame.

He and Dick had fucked, a rousing bout ending with the bedroom lamp shattering on the floor, knocked off by Dick's convulsive jerk of arm while roaring into orgasm.

Jason tut-tutted at the lamp and looked at Dick. Dick shrugged, a little sheepish but not much. Jason stretched and rolled on the bed. He rubbed sweat off his forehead onto the pillow. Damn but they had to change the sheets often.

Beside him Dick yawned, scratched at his chest. He smiled at Jason. The sweaty, beautiful bastard. Jason couldn't take his eyes off him.

And just like that, his heart squeezed small in his chest. Shut in a trap.

"You okay?" Dick touched him.

"I'm good," Jason mumbled, and ran like a coward for the shower.

Dick was asleep when he came back. Jason couldn't sleep. He stared at Dick, the Boy Blunder of his dreams.

He remembered now. The Joker called Dick the Boy Blunder. It was the first time Jason had heard it, and now he was calling Dick that, too. Numerous times over the last weeks, and never once realizing where he'd gotten it from. He didn't understand how that could be now, when he even remembered thinking the nickname would sound funnier if only he wasn't lying broken on the floor. Not too many yuks there.

The things he hadn't wanted to face about Dick stared him in the eyes now. Somehow one glance between them had done it. A simple thing, but Jason couldn't shy away anymore.

He needed him. Dick. Simple as that.

He fell asleep, the Joker's mocking laughter following him down.

"Jason, c'mon," the voice said, gentle. "Wake up. He's not here. You're with me."

"What hurts more?" Jason asked. He coughed, hoarse. "What hurts?" It echoed in his brain, bounced around until he couldn't bear it. Let it loose to began his chant.

He threw Dick on his back and climbed on top of him. But the oddest thing: Dick never raised his voice.

Jason held Dick down, hand to hand, whispered the chant in his skin and bit him, made him bleed. He watched the sweat crawl down Dick's body. Maybe a tear from the corner of his eye, how sweet. Dick and his sweating made it hard to tell. They tasted the same.

And then Dick told him he'd seen Bruce.

He hauled Dick up and threw him against the headboard. Dick knew how to protect himself but he still hit pretty hard.

"Me or Bruce?" He glared down at Dick's wide eyes, so blue.

"Stop," Dick commanded. He threw Jason off him. "You can't ask that."

"I'm not asking!" he growled. "Choose."

"You're sure as hell not telling, you got that?" And now Dick's voice rose.

He wouldn't raise it even if the Joker was in his bed in Jason's body.

When the Joker threatened him in his dreams, Jason had learned to threaten back. Became the aggressor. And Dick had withstood him. He hadn't been afraid, and he'd never raised his voice.

He raised it for Bruce, in defense of Bruce.

Jason grabbed Dick's shoulder and flung him back on the bed.

Dick's head came up, cords in his neck standing out, tears in his eyes. "So rape's your thing now, huh?" His voice was strained, but not particularly loud. That was for Bruce.

Jason let go of him and scrambled off the bed. He held his hands out as if they burned, stared at them like alien things. Then again at Dick, horrified.

The Joker's face superimposed itself over Dick's, a lurid flashback. Jason wasn't worried. He waited it out. Dick was never that _thing._

"What you did, that first time? You think I didn't know about the drugs? It was unforgivable, but I forgave you anyway." Still not loud, but at least Dick's voice shook.

Jason couldn't speak. Words didn't come. It didn't make sense. When he had nothing else, he had anger. He didn't know what to do.

He grabbed up clothes and walked blindly out the door.


End file.
